


why ask why

by fxbricxtedrexlity



Category: Mamamoo, Real Person Fiction
Genre: 2nd person POV, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/F, IM OKAY I SWEAR, Internalized Homophobia, Mutual Pining, early bitter valentines fic, this is sad im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 10:20:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17620646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fxbricxtedrexlity/pseuds/fxbricxtedrexlity
Summary: You’re not ready. You won’t be anytime soon.aka the angsty high school au ft. kim “in denial” yongsun and moon “patient gay” byulyi





	why ask why

::

 

_i’m ready to go,_

_you’re my last stop._

_i’ll soon be far away,_

_you can watch me go,_

_or you can change your mind_

_come with me on the road._

_—why ask why, kaskade_

 

::

 

You’re not ready.

 

The first time you saw her, she’s a junior transfer student from Seoul; loosened tie and the first button of her uniform unbuttoned, the navy blue blazer that’s part of the official uniform has it’s sleeves rolled up to her elbows and she’s wearing slacks instead of the sanctioned skirt.

 

She attracts attention in a way that gravitates people to her—attracts them to her big city girl status, her confident posture, attractive half-smile, and her seemingly dark hair but is actually deep blue under the sun.

 

And she plays the piano.

 

It’s lunch time and you always choose to eat in the music room with your best friend, Joohyun, who has the flu that day.

 

The door opens and her stride doesn’t falter when she spots you inside, your half eaten sandwich forgotten on top of the chair beside you as you sing warm ups for your vocal cords.

 

Heat creeps up your neck at being caught singing—only Joohyun has heard your voice—and you pretend not to see her, opting to awkwardly fix your bag as silently as possible. Maybe you can finish your lunch in the cafeteria.

 

“Don’t mind me, do your thing.” Her voice is deep and you don’t dare look at her, shoving music sheets inside your bag and wincing as you hear them crumple.

 

You’re halfway out of the room, muttering _it’s fine_ , and when you shut the door behind you, notes from the grand piano starts ringing and blending into a peaceful melody that you stay outside, listening, staring at the wall in front of you and wondered about the _what if I stayed?_

 

She’s Moon Byulyi and you’re not ready to have someone like her in your life.

 

::

 

The monday that Joohyun gets back, she hunts you down in the music room during your afternoon free period under the pretense of going to the restroom, hands on her hips, and confusion written in between the crease of her forehead.

 

“Where were you at lunch today?” She’s panting lightly. You remember that her class is at the other side of the building.

 

You stare down at the notebook in your lap with half jumbled words that’s supposed to pass off as lyrics, fingers tearing through the corner and tearing that to smaller pieces. “I was eating at the cafeteria.”

 

You didn’t see the comical rise of your best friend’s eyebrows, but the smugness and accusation lacing her voice makes you look back up.

 

“It’s that new girl, isn’t it? The one playing the piano when I dropped by earlier?”

 

 _Moon_ _Byulyi_.

 

The name escapes your mouth like water from your fingers when it’s 1AM and you’re up late during a school night, the name of the younger girl bouncing around your head that you hope to erase by rinsing your face.

 

It doesn’t work but at least it makes your eyes more tired before you finally drift off.

 

Joohyun sits beside you; her teacher will get suspicious if she stays outside any longer.

 

“Why not come by tomorrow?” Joohyun says softly, as if you’ll bolt right out of the room if she’s not too careful. And it would make sense; Joohyun’s your best friend for years now, and you’re ripping the corner of your notebook more aggressively and your feet kept swinging in time to a fast paced metronome that’s nowhere near you—she can read you.

 

It makes you feel more vulnerable than you realize, stopping your actions altogether.

 

“What for?” The words are pushed out of your mouth instead of the _I’m not interested in hanging out with her or her in general._ Those words leave a bitter taste in your mouth like the copper from biting the inside of your cheek too frequently, and you try to push them down, hoping to drown themselves and mingle with the acid rising up in your throat.

 

She shrugs. “I know how you hate breaking a routine and she kept to herself when I was around earlier.”

 

You give her a vague answer of _maybe_ and a push of _you should go before you get into trouble for staying out too long._

 

But she’s Bae Joohyun—one of the most stubborn and selfless people you know—and she stops at the door, looking back at you fiercely.

 

“She asked about you. You should say hi.”

 

You’re not ready.

 

But you do it for Joohyun, anyway.

 

::

 

It’s worse now.

 

One week of staying in the music room during lunch with Moon Byulyi proved that it’s all your mind needs to keep everything she does on loop when you’re trying to sleep.

 

The image of her back as her hands move, her blazer on top of the piano, the pop of her deft fingers as she cracks them after finishing a piece without any sheet music in front of her.

 

And it doesn’t help that Joohyun is suddenly busy with college applications.

 

She doesn’t talk to you— _thank god_ —but you don’t know how there seems to be more talking between the two of you in the thick silence you both share than the conversations you share with your peers in the hallways and occasional hang outs after school.

 

Moon Byulyi seems to be the master of talking with her body—the small lift of her lips that you catch when she enters the room and sees you already writing in your seat, the unnecessary big gestures as she takes off her blazer as a sign that she’ll start playing soon so you won’t startle, the ringing notes of the piano that sounds suspiciously like a _hello_ and something like a _see you_.

 

It was easier when it was just her name bouncing in your head during late nights.

 

Now, you feel restless in your own bed, body flushing with heat as the shape of her body and the language of it replays like a silent movie stuck behind your eyelids, haunting you whenever you try shut your eyes to sleep.

 

And yet—

 

You look up from your notebook to the sound of the door opening, watching the lift of her lips, before you resume your work.

 

It repeats.

 

You’re not ready.

 

But you’re also not one to break a routine.

 

You stay again today.

 

::

 

The moment you’re frighteningly reminded of a particular occasion associated with love, the hallways are already littered with red and hearts and at least ten different people walked past you carrying flowers.

 

And it’s just eight in the morning.

 

You forgot to pack a lunch today so you head to the cafeteria, contemplating on whether to eat there, but hastily making a retreat when you see couples making out on every corner of the room where they think it’s dark enough, bodies draped over each other and the blast of red everywhere is making you dizzy.

 

Moon Byulyi’s already at the music room, the piano notes stops ringing as she watches you come inside. Being the second one to arrive is new, the silent scrutiny is something you’re not used to, and she’s not quiet today.

 

“Happy valentines day,” she greets and you _know_ she’s in front of you instead of sitting on the piano bench, sees the dark blue of her slacks as she shifts her weight from one toe to another and—

 

You blink.

 

She’s holding a lone rose, catching your eyes before you dart your head back down, willing the blush to stop rising to the tip of your ears where your hair can’t quite cover.

 

Moon Byulyi doesn’t place the rose in front of you and leave you in your awkward glory.

 

No, that’s not Moon Byulyi.

 

She reveals a whole new side to you when you feel her soft and calloused hands encircle your wrist, dragging it up and up and _up_ until you felt curious enough to lift you head.

 

The rose is soft against your palm, the stem stripped off any thorn, almost weightless but tipping to the side where the petals look healthy and fresh and your other hand comes up to catch the other side of the rose just as she lets go of you.

 

“Thank you.” You tell her, and the blinding smile she gives you instead of the small one you’re used too is also new. You don’t know she could smile so radiantly like that.

 

The day goes on.

 

You replay the day.

 

The morning is a routine of seeing reds and pinks, bouquets and chocolates.

 

But you shouldn’t have been surprised when Moon Byulyi breaks that, too.

 

Instead of a bouquet, it’s a single rose.

 

Instead of chocolates, it’s a hand written note.

 

Instead of reds and pinks, it’s a pure and innocent white rose.

 

You throw it away on the way home.

 

You’re not ready. You won’t be anytime soon.

 

::

 

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**Author's Note:**

> based on the flower i gave my lady earlier + the product of my overactive imagination + it’s valentines soon (she accepted the flower, i’m just an emo kid like that and my imagination suxx)


End file.
